


full circle

by ghoulhunt



Category: Death Note
Genre: ? - Freeform, Dysphoria, Graphic Description, M/M, Misgendering, Transgender, idk this is something i whipped up p quickly, light matt/mello, menstruation tw, trans!mello
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulhunt/pseuds/ghoulhunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mello wakes to find the light shining in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	full circle

**Author's Note:**

> i know that there are she/her pronouns in the beginning of this fic, and it is to signify a change in pronouns to go along with the theme. in no way is it supposed to be misgendering, but im going to tag it anyways just in case.

1.

Mello is shrouded in darkness when she wakes in the morning.

She is ten years old and has never felt good. Not when she lived in her old house, not when she was alone. She has never felt at peace. Peace is an oddity to her, as she is always on edge, stressed out, and uncomfortable from who knows what. It’s something that’s always been around her for a reason she hasn’t ever discovered. She cannot relax when there is a constant feeling of dread and anxiousness engulfing her. Nothing can be done to tame the feelings her mind has forced her to adapt to.

Lying underneath the covers, she can tell that today is an especially weird day already. It is not the day, or the fact that she is up early. It is not the sudden memory of her having a test today, or planning on going out to the candy store in town after her classes.

Something is wrong.

She doesn’t feel like herself. She’s never quite felt like herself, to say, but today brings a whole bout of new feelings. She doesn’t feel like her body fits. From head to toe, she can point out every flaw, but it isn’t the freckles that dot her nose that make her want to scrub at her skin, nor is it the dryness that covers her elbows and knees. Rather, it’s the dainty nails that are at the tips of her long fingers, the shape of her jawline that is too rounded, and the beginnings of adolescence budding through her night clothes.

It doesn’t feel like it belongs to her.

Mello lets out a groan as she stretches the length of her body. The taste of morning breath as she smacks her tongue makes her cringe. With sleepy eyes, she stands up, the nightgown given to her barely covering her knees. She walks to the bathroom, finding her toothbrush and running it under cold water.

She stares at herself.

Her hair is down below her shoulders, which happen to be too slender and figuring. Her cheeks are too rosy and her chest too prominent, although she is only ten. She hates what she sees. She likes her eyes, and the color of her hair, but everything else feels completely wrong. She doesn’t like being feminine looking and she doesn’t like looking like a girl, because she _isn’t_ a girl.

She’s not a girl and she’s never been a girl. She will never be a girl. She has denied any sense of that self since she was young, but has never affixed the thought to her own discomfort before. This body that she lives in isn’t hers, and belongs to someone else, she thinks. She wants to rid of everything she sees until she can’t recognize what is there anymore.

Mello raises the toothbrush to her mouth slowly.

It isn’t self-acceptance that she feels. It’s validity of her feelings.

‘She’ is not a ‘she’ and somehow, she will feel peace.

Mello laughs at the toothbrush’s image in the mirror.

He forgot to put toothpaste on.

2.

Mello wakes up to find that the sun is rising in between the shades.

He is twelve years old now, his birthday just recently passing. The light of the bright snow from the reflecting sun illuminates his room, causing a brief moment of blindness as he opens his bloodshot eyes.

He had a nightmare last night. Nightmares are a usual occasion for him, so it wasn’t any different, but he felt as though he couldn’t escape this one. It felt too real to be in his head this time.

He dreamt of too many people not understanding and not caring. Their words pierced through him like daggers, the wrong birth name being used against him, the wrong pronouns.

 He’s grown to care about those little things, like what the other children call him and how they call him by.  He used to be bombarded with ‘she’ until he became sick of it and lashed out against his own will. That happened in the middle of class, and now the other students barely even glance at him without being frightened. At least now, they’ve all grown used to using his pronouns. It’s all he can have to reclaim his identity until he can do _something_.

Menstruation began a year ago, and it’s just about as horrible as it can be. He can’t stand the feeling of it. The pains in his back and the wetness between his legs makes him want to vomit. It’s a monthly reminder to him that he is much more than what his sex dictates, while also making him feel hopeless that this cycle will never end. He doesn’t know how to put a stop to it, and he is afraid that it never will.

His menstruation causes him to be even more emotional than he already is, and the fluctuation of hormones in his body is distressing. He finds that at least once, he is curled up against the tub of the bathroom, lamenting and wishing with all of his might that he will wake up without this hell one day. He convinces himself that this is all another nightmare. He will wake up someday, but he hasn’t found a way out of it yet.

Rubbing the sleep out of his teal eyes, Mello tears the covers off of him and feels an ache in his lower abdomen. It’s nearly time for his cycle to start up again, if it hasn’t already started. In a slight state of dizziness, he rushes to the bathroom, clutching at his torso.

Nothing is there when he reaches the bathroom. Just a sign a week before. With a sigh, he turns the sink on and starts to run water over his face. He soaks his long hair, as usual, forgetting to pull it back.

It’s then he gets the idea to cut it.

He’s had his hair cut before, so it’s not like he doesn’t know how to cut hair. He isn’t number two for a reason. He knows how to do things simply from observing, and he’s sure that he can cut it to the length he wants.

He separates his blonde locks into two separate sections. He finds a pair of scissors in a drawer.

Carefully, he runs the blade of the scissors across the section, right beneath his jaw, and the sound of a snip resonates through the bathroom.

3.

It’s a dark day when Mello awakens once more.

Mello is now fourteen years old. He has grown taller by at least six inches, and has only frown to be more competitive. He finds himself now constantly striving to be better. Better at controlling his emotions, better at masking his fear, better at his grades. He’s trying his absolute best to get above Near. Besides him trying to make himself better, beating Near is the next thing he is hoping to conquer.

Clouds are rolling in on the Saturday morning, as they usually do in England. Drops of rain scatter across his window, and the whistling sound of wind passes through the crack of his barely open screen. The breeze runs underneath the covers and tickles at his legs, which are bare from the thigh down. The air is starting to cool due to the November season, and it feels good. His tank top is sticking to him nastily, and he wishes he had a fan in his room.

Mello rolls out of bed, as usual. He finds his way to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and washes his face. He twists his small amount of hair into a small bun at the crease of his neck, and walks back across the hallway to get to his room. He searches around his room to find his binder, which is stuck in between his nightstand and the wall from him sleepily taking it off the previous night.

He bought his binder only a few months ago. He found out about them through a book he found in the library, of all places, and it was one of the best decisions of his life. The effect of a flattened chest as he stands with his side pointed away from the mirror never fails to cause a faint smile cross his lips. The binder helped to form his body more, his natural becoming angular jawline and small hip curves fit well with the flat chest. The small curves are things he is growing to admire. It gives him more shape, and he would prefer it over being all angular.

He throws a shirt on and a pair of jeans lying on his floor. He goes downstairs to the breakfast room to find only a few kids there. Most are probably still sleeping, as it’s the weekend, but he doesn’t mind. He never quite liked the loud aura in the morning.

“Hey, Mello?”

A familiar voice catches his attention.

“Roger wants to talk to you about something.” It’s Matt, leaning against the doorframe of the room.

“Why?”

Matt shrugs in response, pulling out a Nintendo from one of his many pockets. “Beats me, he said it was important.”

“Nothing he says is ever important.” Mello complains before striding out of the room through another door.

He walks into Roger’s office and sees Near sitting on the floor. Roger Ruvie displays solemnity, his eyes cast down and his face forlorn.

“L is dead.”

4.

There is no light in any window of the complex.

Mello is sixteen years old. He is sixteen years old and the second to the leader in the mafia, all the way in Los Angeles. At sixteen, he’s a criminal, but he’s getting what he wants for once.

His voice is not deepening and it is highly annoying. All of the other members simply think he is effeminate, with his shape and scrawniness and the pitch of his voice. Even though he hates it, he would hate to be outed to the entire mafia as well. They’re too dumb to understand what being transgender means, and would exploit him in terrible ways, or worse, kick him out or kill him. He’s been keeping it all on the low, and he’s been doing a damn good job of it for the past two years.

Never once has he been caught with any of his products or his binders, nor has he ever been caught naked or nearly so. The first thing he demanded when he became second-which was almost as soon as he entered the mafia-was privacy and new clothing, since he packed clothes that were too small for him and not at all flattering.

He left Wammy’s with his rosary, which he had casted aside for years. Not only was it a symbol of his faith, but a symbol of how he has changed. He never used to pray to any sort of god, but out of forsaken fear he clings onto it like a lifeline.

 He prays that he will be on top. He prays that someday, he may get out of this and go on his own. This is his shelter, and all he has. Without the mafia, he is nothing-he has no money and not even an identity. He is only Mello, because that’s all he ever has been.

He prays that someday he will be able to find himself again. He lost who he was, after L died. He’s become more impulsive and manic in his ways, which could have resulted in many dangerous and irreversible outcomes.

He prays that someday he will be him true self. He knows it will take time, and he also knows that in order to achieve his goal of becoming who he is, he has to get out of this situation.

The thing is, he can’t do that. By doing so would only show that Near is still better than him, which he refuses to believe. While he isn’t at Wammy’s anymore, beating Near is still a main priority. It’s one of the reasons he’s stuck here, underneath the covers of an uncomfortable futon, in a dingy warehouse that smells of alcohol. With his arising power, he will be able to beat Near. At this point, it’s all he has to try and beat Near.

Mello sighs and stands from the bed, wrapped in a blanket.

He walks to the bathroom and turns the sink on to brush his teeth.

  1.   
Mello wakes to find that he can’t open his eyes.



He’s nineteen years old. He is lying on top of a ton of blankets, his outstretched arm touching the bare hardwood floor. He hears quiet pixelated noises coming from a small gaming system.

His left side aches. Underneath the wrappings, his skin feels itchy, and all he wants to do is scratch at the healing burns. He could scratch it through the bandages, but he knows better to-it would only cause more pain.

Only a few days ago he stumbled into his shithole of an apartment, holding his seared face and crying in absolute agony of the flames that had caressed his skin. He must have passed out sometime afterwards, because he doesn’t remember a single thing after that. He can remember what happened before, however, and it makes a lump form in his throat. He remembers the flash of light clearly, and the noise of the explosion that caused him to go deaf in his left ear. He remembers the pain. He remembers the _smell_. That awful smell of leather and flesh melting together, the feeling of his vest embedded into his skin. Every movement caused it to throb, and caused him to see stars. He remembers opening the door and falling to the floor, tears staining what was left of his skin, and hearing Matt shout.

He tries to prop himself up, but the movement can be felt in all of his joints. His wounds scream with discomfort, and his shoulder blades kill from landing so hard on his back in the explosion. He yelps in pain.

“Don’t sit up. You’ll rip the flesh open again.”

A raspy voice penetrates the air.

“Why can’t I see anything?” Mello asks, his throat burning with dryness.

“Bandages. I wrapped them around your head. I couldn’t find another way to cover the burns on your face.” He’s moved to the floor now; Mello can smell it. He reeks of cigarettes and sweat, and faintly of alcohol.

“Can you try to help me sit up?”

“Yeah.” Matt moves around to his back, placing one hand on Mello’s right hip and another on the square of his back. He gently maneuvers him into a sitting position. Sweat drenches the blanket where he had been laying.

“You need your bandages changed.”

“I can do it.” He says hastily.

“No, you can’t.” Matt says. “I’m not going to let you. You can’t even see what you’re doing.”

“Well I don’t want you to fucking touch me.” Anger laces Mello’s words, like venom being spit from a snake.

He hears Matt sigh. “I know it makes you uncomfortable, but unless you want to face infection and go through that pain, I recommend you let me do it.”

Mello grimaces.

“Come on.”

Mello hears the sound of a first aid kit, and the rifling of bandages and wipes.

“I’m going to cut the bandage on your face first. Don’t move.”

He doesn’t hear the sound of the snipping, because it’s on the left. The bandage immediately loosens, and fresh air brushes at the raw and bloody skin.

His eyes adjust to the light. The pain over the left side of his face is absolutely agonizing. He grips the comforter with white knuckles as searing pain rushes across the burn. He hisses. He wants to lay his hand across it, but knows better not to do this as well.

He sees the shaggy hair of his friend as he calms down.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Mello looks down. There is nothing on his top half.

“Your binder…it melted. The right side of it, at least. So did your vest. I had to cut you out of them, they were unsalvageable.”

Mello sighs. His chest is barely visible under the layers of wrappings, but he doesn’t want to see it. He would rather his breasts rot off with infection than let himself, or worse, _Matt_ , see them.

Matt starts to cut the bandages off of his upper arm, and the air around causes him to tense again.

“If it makes a difference, I don’t think it matters.”

“What?”

“That you have boobs. Or breasts, whatever you prefer. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make you any less of what you are, or who you are. Do you know how many dudes have boobs? _I_ have boobs.” Matt laughs a little.

Mello catches sight of his arm. It’s red, very red, nearly glowing. White blisters the size of quarters dot his arm all the way up to his shoulder.

“I don’t need them though. They make me restless. I don’t want them-Fuck!” He exclaims. Matt is trying to take the large square bandages off of his neck.

“It’ll be over soon.”

“It hurts.”

“No, I mean…this. We’ll be out of this situation soon. I’ll order you another binder. One with a zipper. It’ll be easier to put on, okay? This will be over, and we’ll be able to go somewhere else, and do better things.”

Matt slips his rosary from the coffee table around Mello’s neck. A faint smile crosses his lips.

Matt starts cutting the bandages off of his chest.

6.

Mello stirs very early in the morning, spooned against the warm body of Matt.

He’s nineteen years old. It’s been a few months since he was burned. They continue to scar, but he no longer needs bandages. Sometimes they feel sore, and other times they itch. His hearing never returned to his left ear, and he thanks god that he is not blind in his left eye.

He looks over the shoulder of the brown haired teen to look at the digital alarm clock. It’s only six in the morning, and the sun has yet to rise due to the winter months. They moved to Tokyo in November, and while the winter is pleasant here, the things they are doing spoil everything.

Today feels different.

He knows what he must do later today. He has plans to capture Takada. They have plans to figure out, once and for all, who Kira is. He knows the looming threat of death that hangs above his head, like a weight just waiting to crush him at the right time. Of course, he doesn’t want to die-he has so much more to live for, it seems, even if he isn’t L’s successor. He knows that if he does die, he will be something of a broken martyr. Either that, or nothing.

Mello can’t say that he isn’t happy, though. He knows that he shouldn’t be in these times. He should be anxious, tense, and stressed out. He should be on edge about all of this, and yet, he feels content. He feels content with his body. He feels content knowing that he has improved. He improved himself because he knew that he deserved better, and while he won’t be able to improve anymore after this, he is happy with how he is. Even if his voice isn’t deep, or his shoulders aren’t broadened. His chest won’t ever be flat permanently, but he is fine with that. Life for him is chaotic, but he is relaxed

He finally feels at peace with himself.

He finds Matt’s hand, pressed against his stomach, and wraps his own around it. He would hate for Matt to die in this. Matt’s done nothing wrong. Mello has done so many horrible things in his short amount of life, it’s him that would want to die for Matt.

Matt starts to wake up, as he takes a hold of Mello’s hand.

“Why are you up so early?” Matt mumbles.

“Why not be?”

Matt turns onto his other side so he is facing Mello. “Your hair is a mess.”

“Yours isn’t looking any better.”

“Touché.”

Mello plants a ghost of a kiss on Matt’s cheek before getting up and walking to the bathroom. His movements are sluggish with his tired body. He shuts the door behind him, and looks into the mirror.

It shows him.

It shows Mihael Keehl, standing in the mirror.

Mello finds his toothbrush and runs it under the water. He puts on the mint toothpaste that lies messily on the edge of the sink.

He starts brushing his teeth.

He’s ready to take on the world.

**Author's Note:**

> anyways hope you enjoyed i meant to post this last night but passed out before i could finish it lmao


End file.
